


Angel's Trumpet

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Flirting, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Tom Riddle, Slight fluff, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: “What a lovely start to the new year,” Riddle purred, and Harry slumped with relief when Riddle finally pulled away to start the car.No, Harry thought as Riddle’s eyes flickered to his before pulling out of the parking lot,it was the makings of a nightmare.All wrapped up in a beautiful package named Tom Marvolo Riddle.





	Angel's Trumpet

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: New Years Eve + Tomarry
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! This is just something short I cooked up real quick. Please leave comments or kudos if you enjoyed.
> 
> Thank you, TheLastNero for betaing!

Harry was  _ drunk _ .

There was no denying this fact. No way of going around it. After he’d had his second shot of tequila, Harry was seeing double. The face of the bartender had become murkier than it had already been--the faint outlines of his face, that had once been difficult to discern without his glasses, splotches of color.

A kaleidoscope that was only made worse by the pulsing lights of the bar and the low thrum of chatter in the background.

It was New Years Eve, and he didn’t know why he was there at all. Why he had decided to come to a dingy bar rather than have a couple drinks with friends and their families…

Oh right. He wasn’t anywhere near London. He wasn’t even in the same country, no less. His studies had taken him elsewhere, and he would admit that spending a lonely New Years wasn’t helping matters.

It was what forced him out of his shite apartment. It was what had him sitting at this bar, shotgunning alcohol as if the he’d die without it. 

It was a pathetic existence. One that Harry was certain his friends would hound him for if they knew. But they weren’t here right now. 

It was just Harry, sitting at the bar, with a bartender that refused to give him any more drinks. How the man knew that Harry was shitfaced, he couldn’t even begin to guess, but that was it. It certainly sucked that this bartender took his duties so seriously. At this rate, he’d never get as plastered as he aimed for.

He could just hit the bar next door, if anything else. He hadn’t just chosen  _ any  _ random bar, after all. If he was going to do this; if he was going to drink himself into a coma, then he’d do it right.

And if that meant bouncing from bar to bar, uncaring of where he went, well. That was his problem and no one else's. 

He wasn’t planning on driving. He had taken an Uber from his flat to downtown. A city he still didn’t know, and probably wouldn’t until he had least lived there for more than a few months.

Harry slurred for the bartender to close his tab, and the man, now just a splotch of blonde hair and pale skin, obeyed. He faintly understood Ben-- _ was his name even Ben? _ \-- state his acquiescence and then Harry was standing.

The world swayed around him, but Harry managed to stand without moving along with it. The buzz of the alcohol made his head pulse, but it was a pleasant feeling. It could almost even replace the warmth of his friend’s company, of their laughter and their jokes. 

Harry missed them greatly, and before he knew it, he was stumbling past the throng of people milling about the bar. He didn’t stop until cold air slapped against his cheeks, until the bitter stench of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne melted into clean air.

_ I wonder what  _ he  _ would say if he saw me now?  _

It was an an intrusive thought, and it cut through the dense thicket of Harry’s alcoholic stupor. He didn’t want to think of that. Not now, and possibly not ever if he had a say in the matter.

Tom Marvolo Riddle could go fuck himself. Harry was beyond him. Millions of miles away from his sardonic laughter, his sharp gaze, and twisted lips.

Riddle was in London. Harry was in America. The distance couldn’t be more readily apparent. 

But the thought came unbidden. The memories of someone so irksome;  _ the  _ literal bane of his existence, too much for him to handle. Even with several shots of Tequila and a couple of pints of beer sitting warmly in his belly, Harry couldn’t stop the vicious anger that seized him at just the thought of Riddle’s stupid face.

Though, it shouldn’t have surprised him that, as drunk as he was, his nostalgia would summon the memory of Tom bloody Riddle. The man had consumed Harry’s life back in Britain; his presence in Harry’s affairs and his insistence in sticking his nose into Harry’s business, oppressive and unwanted. Though, that hadn’t always been the case; it hadn’t always been awful. Their relationship hadn’t always been tumultous, but that was then.

So it shouldn’t be shocking that he’d think of him now, in America. Loneliness and alcohol did strange things to people, after all. It drew out memories that Harry buried deep, that he refused to acknowledge because of just how painful they could be, and in fact, were.

Ron had told him more than enough embarrassing stories of how he’d drunk dialed Hermione. Thought, it was certainly funny, in a way, that it was in one of his drunken calls that their relationship even came to be in the first place. Harry wouldn’t have believed it had he not been there with him, listening to him slur and sputter his confession with an exasperated Hermione on the line.

Fondness quickly replaced his anger, and a slow smile broke on his face. 

_ God, I miss those two. _

Harry glanced around his surroundings, watching couples and groups of people walking across the sidewalk. Some walked past him, heading into the bar he had just exited. Some moved to his left, to a bar playing foreign music he didn’t have the mind to decipher the lyrics of. Others, moved to his right to another bar with bright, neon colors flashing “HAPPY HOUR SPECIALS” to a rhythm he couldn’t quite make sense of.

And then, then down the street, past another throng of people, Harry stopped. There was a warehouse down the end, but it had comparably less people on that end. There were perhaps one or two groups of men at the front. 

Music pounded rapidly, and Harry’s teeth nearly vibrated from the intensity of the pulsing beat. He couldn’t recognize the tune, but something about it sounded familiar. Almost like the pubs Ron and his friends would take him to back in London, dulcet voices and gyrating bodies manifesting before his very eyes.

Harry was moving before he could stop himself. He pushed past a couple, a girl with dark hair and pale skin and a boy with blonde strands that brushed past his shoulders, and followed the beat. He didn’t know what it was about it that called to him. Didn’t care when an angry driver honked at him when he threw himself in front of his fancy luxury car. 

He needed to go there, and so he went.

_ Love and pain go hand in hand… _

His shoulders bumped into men gyrating against other men at the front of the bar, and Harry did not pay it any mind. His head was stuffed with cotton, his mouth thick with the taste of alcohol as he slid to the front, stopping only when a burly man pressed a hand to his chest.

_ Oh, say what they want, I'm still thinking it's worth it… _

Harry fished out his ID without thinking and flashed the man with it, uncaring of the fact that his fingers were shaking and that his skin was clammy with sweat. He wanted to get inside, he wanted to know what was it about this bar that drew him in.

And then man moved aside, a flash of recognition lighting in the man’s gaze, before waving Harry inside.

The bouncer spoke, said something that Harry vaguely understood as “have fun,” but he couldn’t be sure. His ears were ringing with the bass thrumming with the music, and his eyes were barely open, unable to make out the colors inside. Nothing made sense to him aside from the warmth flooding his stomach, for the strange feeling of recognition that swirled in his brain that screamed for him to follow.

_ Oh, little bit drunk, tell my heart you won't hurt it… _

The warehouse was massive and packed with more people than Harry had anticipated. There were men in tight pants, the outline of their thighs and calves so obvious that Harry could make them out without needing to focus through the drunk haze. Some were topless, their skin glittering like brilliant gemstones beneath the neon lights flashing above them all.

There was fog, percolating between the bodies. The smoke assaulted his nose, the smell cloyingly sweet as Harry forced himself into the crowd, uncaring of who he touched and who touched him in turn. 

_ I love your lies in the dark… _

Then he was swaying to the beat, his feet taking him to the center of the crowd, where they refused to converge. Harry fit into the space readily, consumed it with his presence, uncaring that he was being watched by everyone as he began to move to the beat. It called to him, made him feel more alive than he had in  _ months  _ since leaving.

He forgot his friends, their laughter ringing in the back of his head. He forgot that he was in a foreign country, that he had only completed his first semester in school. He forgot that this was New Year's Eve, a time where he should be returning back home and celebrating the birth of a new year with friends and family.

Harry lost himself to the music, felt it twist inside him like a writhing serpent that he did not mind in the least.  _ Let it come _ , he thought.  _ Let me forget _ .

_ Love tearing a broken heart… _

Hips moved, undulating in perfect sync with the beat. He dropped low when the song called for him, lifted his hands above his head when he imagined warm fingers tracing along his wrists and down to his forearms. 

Harry saw it all in perfect technicolor, even if he couldn’t identify the faces of the men dancing around him…

If he closed his eyes, he could even imagine their hungry stares touching his bare skin. Could even imagine  _ his  _ gaze on him...watching him unravel on the dance-floor like he’d never had the courage to.

The alcohol made him bold, made him  _ feel  _ alive. He didn’t stop his feet and threw his head back, hair brushing along the nape of his neck, not when the music flowed through him endlessly. 

Harry didn’t know how long he danced until a warm palm pressed against his chest, when hips suddenly pressed against the swell of his arse, a hard bulge pressed against him. He didn’t fight the heat, didn’t resist when that hand splayed across his chest and dropped to his groin.

A hiss fled his parted mouth, and Harry was caught between leaning in to that hand and pushing against the hips moving flawlessly with his. 

“... _ Harry _ ,” the voice sounded familiar, and yet not. It was deep and husky, the notes of it flowing along his spine like melted chocolate on the flat of his tongue. It was sweet and indulgent, and everything Harry needed in that moment. 

How the man knew his name, Harry didn’t care in the least. He only wanted to be touched, to  _ dance.  _

Harry pressed up closer, the man’s chest against his back, those hips rubbing against his arse, and it took everything within him in that moment not to moan. Not to purr like a content kitten while drunk as he was. 

Despite his inebriation, he hadn’t lost all of his inhibitions. He may have been dancing with a stranger that had a voice like the one that niggled at him in the back of his mind, but that didn’t mean he’d come undone in the middle of this bar.

When the hand squeezed him more firmly, when lips grazed the lobe of his ear, Harry forgot completely why he had tried to stifle his moans. The music would drown them out anyway.

The beat was loud and he was drunk off the feeling of the man’s skin pressed to his, off the alcohol he had indulged in, and the music that stole all thoughts from his head.

“ _ You reek of alcohol, Harry _ …” the voice said, and Harry whined when another hand, one that Harry had not noticed before, slipped under his shirt and trailed along his quivering stomach. It burned like alcohol on the back of his throat, the familiarity of it making him dizzy when they continued to move, slower now, but those  _ hands. _

They teased along his clothed cock, while the other traced his rib cage, as if counting each breath it could rip from his parted mouth. 

Harry’s throat was tight with want and something else. Maybe the alcohol? Maybe the urge to vomit everything that he’d drank that night? Harry didn’t know and he didn’t care, not when those hands felt so good and that  _ voice _ .

“P-please,” Harry whimpered, hands shooting up to wrap around the taller man’s neck. Short hairs tickled his fingertips, and felt so familiar that he didn’t know  _ where  _ he had touched hair as short as that before.

He tried to card his fingers through it, but whatever hair products the man was wearing prevented him from doing so. It caught against his hands, trapped them more than the hands robbing him of his ability to speak, burning heat lighting up his insides in ways that Harry had never experienced before.

“ _ Do you know who I am, Harry? Who you’re begging so sweetly to? _ ” He sounded amused, but Harry hardly cared for that. He wanted to be touched, wanted to sate the hunger that tore at him from the inside out. The heat, the  _ fire  _ that had lit up his insides like a pyre, Harry wanted to both drown in it and escape from it. 

It was the same feeling before plunging into dark waters...the same feeling of elation and recklessness that seized him when Riddle would stare at him with knowing eyes...would curl his lips into a frightening smile before--

Realization seized him, and Harry let out a choked gasp. 

_ No. _

Harry abruptly stopped dancing, and the man-- _ Riddle, oh god _ \--followed suit. His hands did not fall away from his skin, his touch still pressed against his body. Mapping and questing, as if trying to memorize parts of Harry that Riddle had never before been privy to. 

A wet tongue licked the shell of Harry’s ear, and a deep shudder wracked through Harry’s body. The haze he had been so pleasantly drunk on, the one that made the world around him melt into nothing, was cut immediately.

Everything became clearer, at once. The familiarity of this voice, the almost visceral way he responded immediately to the press of those fingers against his bare flesh…

“W-what are you doing here?”

Harry didn’t know if Riddle heard him, but considering how intimately pressed they were to one another, Riddle had to have heard him, or at least caught the almost panicked sound of his words, slurred from drinking.

Even with the shock twisting around inside him like a wild beast, nothing could erase just how much he’d drunk. 

“Business,” Riddle murmured into his ear, and Harry groaned when the hand tracing shapes against his bare chest suddenly tweaked his nipple. 

He didn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed that Riddle was doing this in public. Not when the person touching him was the last person he’d expected to find in a dingy bar in America. He was supposed to be in  _ Britain _ , doing god knows what.

Riddle hadn’t had the decency to even say goodbye when Harry had left. Not that Harry had wanted him to. Their relationship was rocky on the best of times and outright hostile at the worst. Whatever good feelings had existed between them had died a vicious death. Harry had made sure of it. 

So it was incredible, really. That Riddle would be here, feeling him up as if he couldn’t get enough of him. As if this was a perfectly  _ normal  _ thing to do with someone you hated. A friendship that was hardly a friendship; not after catastrophic fight over Riddle’s unsavory business habits.

“Business?” Harry scoffed, and made to rip himself away from Riddle’s touch, ripping his arms away from the man’s neck as if burned.

But Riddle did not allow him to move, let alone escape his suffocating confinement. His hold became tight, his hands stopping their teasing touches to wrap more tightly around him. 

Harry gritted his teeth, and twisted his head to tell him  _ exactly  _ what’d he do to him if he continued to touch him, but his vision suddenly warped.

Riddle twisted him around, faster than Harry could have expected. A leg slipped between his quivering thighs, an arm wound tightly around his hips. They were unyielding, and Harry nearly vomited on the man with how rapidly his vision spun.

He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, and then Riddle was all that he saw, all that he could breathe. His mouth was pressed to his, his dark eyes locked on his. It took everything within him not to flinch and pull away, to close his eyes and pretend that Riddle was not digging his knee against his hard cock with lips against his in the middle of the bar.

_ God, this was not how I wanted New Years Eve to go. _

“I heard that you were not coming back to Britain for the festivities…” Riddle drawled, a devious glimmer settling over his gaze when Harry tried to pull away once more. His hands made their way to Riddle’s biceps and he applied as much force as he could despite the anxious energy thrumming along his veins.

Harry’s stomach was in knots, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from the alcohol or Riddle’s proximity. It could easily have been both, but Harry wasn’t going to admit to that. 

“So what? It’s not like I can afford to make trips around the bloody world like you can,” Harry spat, shuddering when Riddle’s free hand-- _ the one that wasn’t bloody caging him into his body _ \--smoothed across his cheek.

It was oddly tender. Harry did not think about what that touch could entail. 

“Harry, no need to be rude. You know I’d gladly have paid for a plane ticket back had you asked.”

Harry laughed dryly, disbelief coloring his cheeks a bright red. 

_ The nerve of him _ , Harry thought. He’d sooner bite off his own tongue and drop out of school than ask Riddle for anything.

Harry did not trust his money, did not want anything to do with it. Riddle had his fingers in some dark shite. It was the only explanation to the luxurious lifestyle he lived.

Riddle’s money was  _ endless _ , his connections in the political world in Britain, extensive. Harry didn’t want to be a part of that; He’d said as much when Harry had confronted Riddle after he had bloody  _ Bellatrix Lestrange  _ in his home, drinking tea.

Whatever good will Harry had felt for this man, had died a rather tragic death when Riddle had the nerve to tell him that yes, he  _ was  _ sticking his nose in shady business. 

It was unacceptable. It went contrary to everything Harry believed. He was studying to become a bloody  _ investigator _ . To become a criminal profiler. 

How could he be friends with someone that would gladly exploit others for his own gain? Had done so for  _ years  _ before Riddle had told him, offhand, about his business.

“You can take your money and shove it up your--”

Harry did not finish. Couldn’t finish, not when Riddle took that precise moment to kiss him. His tongue licked at the seam of his mouth, and his fingers _ \--god, his fingers _ \-- lowered to knead at his arse. 

His cock swelled within his jeans, and he couldn’t stop himself from gasping into the kiss, allowing Riddle ample opportunity to deepen the kiss. 

His tongue ran from his gums to his own tongue. It coaxed and teased, practically incited him to respond. Riddle’s eyes were wide open, looking into his own with a heated gaze Harry could not even begin to fathom, and Harry wanted nothing more than to close his eyes. To avoid the smoldering heat in the abyss, lest he find himself trapped in that moment as well.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten lost in them, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last if Harry didn’t look away.

But he couldn’t. Riddle squeezed his arse, and Harry arched his spine, saliva running down his chin when Riddle continued to kiss him. It was rough and wet, teeth clacking and digging into his bottom lip.

It was violent, and Harry’s toes curled at the promise within Riddle’s eyes; not at all as frightened or disgusted as Harry should have been. Not even angry, only confused, his insides writhing with desire as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

_ We shouldn’t be doing this. _

Harry moaned when Riddle sucked his tongue into his mouth, when teeth bit teasingly at the flesh. A spark of heat bolted up Harry’s spine, and he squeezed Riddle’s arms tightly, grip bruising and nails biting into the delicate skin to ground himself somehow.

And then Riddle pulled away, a long string of saliva still connecting their lips. Harry didn’t have the presence of mind to even be embarrassed, the haze of his alcoholic stupor and arousal nothing compared to the myriad of emotions pulling and twisting inside him.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that. To do  _ this. _ ” 

Riddle squeezed Harry’s arse and rutted against Harry’s hard cock in emphasis. As if to prove to Harry right then just what Riddle had meant; what he had wanted to do for lord knows how long.

“To watch you unravel before my eyes…”

Harry barely heard Riddle over the rush of blood pooling to his ears. His cheeks burned hotly, and his breaths were coming in haggard and short. It sounded like Harry was about to go through cardiac arrest, like at any moment he would just drop dead in Riddle’s arms because this  _ couldn’t  _ be happening.

_ Riddle kissed me. He bloody-- _

“W-what?” Harry croaked, fingers shaking nervously because Riddle wasn’t supposed to kiss him. He wasn’t supposed to touch him, wasn’t supposed to  _ find  _ him in the middle of New York City. He was supposed to drink himself into a pitiful state, to suffer through the worst hangover of his life the next morning for his poorly-made decisions.

None of his plans had Riddle factored in. 

It was made worse by the rapid beating of his heart, by the rush of adrenaline and desire that trickled down to his cock. He shouldn't  _ want  _ Riddle. He shouldn’t delight in him, he shouldn’t--

_ Fucking care. _

But he did. He absolutely did.

Hatred swelled within Harry like hot air. All of it, directed at himself. 

“Harry…” Riddle said, but Harry refused to listen. He pushed back, and Riddle, seemingly not expecting it, let Harry go. 

Stumbling back, Harry turned around to flee. He couldn’t do this. One thing was to get into a fight with Riddle, to cut ties and forget that they had ever been friends at all, but it was entirely another for Harry to entertain the idea that he--

_ Don’t think about it, Harry. Don’t go there. _

Harry heard Riddle shout through the pulsing beat of the music, his senses woefully attuned to the man. Still, he didn’t stop. He rushed and moved, shoved past the bodies of men and woman dancing in the dance-floor.

Nothing could hold him back, not even the glowers and angry shouts of the people he elbowed away from his path. 

Harry had to leave and get to his flat as soon as possible before he did something stupid. Before he entertained the idea that Riddle might--

_ Ignore it, Harry. _

He didn’t hear the sound of people shouting loudly. All that registered was the sound of blood rushing through his ears. All that made sense to him was his need to flee, to forget about the surge of conflicting emotions inside him.

Then, he burst through a doorway into the night air. It chilled him to the bone, more than the tight ring of black in Riddle’s eyes, than the desire he had seen in that face.

Harry ignored the sound of people laughing and shoved his hands down his pants to grab his phone. It was slippery within his grip, and shook more than he liked within his hand, but Harry didn’t have time to complain. 

He needed to get as far away as possible and get an Uber.

“Harry!”

The sound of Riddle’s shout was enough to startle him. He dropped his phone, and Harry considered for a brief second just leaving it there and hailing a cab. He could simply order a new phone, if necessary. 

But Riddle tore that option away from him. A hand clamped tightly around his shoulder, the sound of a familiar voice speaking his name, the only one Harry understood, before Harry was spinning. 

Nausea rushed up Harry’s stomach. The familiar burn of bile and anxiety like a toxin that needed to be released.

Harry threw up. Riddle’s shoes took the brunt of it, but Riddle did not move away.

Tears burned hotly down his cheeks, unbidden and unwanted as he continued to expel everything he’d eaten and drank that evening.

The dark pavement beneath his feet became a bright yellow in a matter of seconds. The smell of clean air became marred with the stench of bile and alcohol. It was endless, the convulsions of his stomach merciless as Riddle rubbed his shoulders patiently.

There was a gentleness to it that made his insides turn more fiercely than the alcohol in his stomach did. 

_ Why? _

Harry didn’t know how much time passed, how long it took for the convulsions and the trembling of his shoulders to abate, but it certainly felt like an eternity. Riddle had not left his side, not once. He held him by the shoulders, rubbing soothing circles against his back.

“Better?” Riddle whispered, and Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

His throat hurt like hell and his head ached fiercely. It felt like he’d gone several rounds against a heavyweight wrestler and lost. It was awful, the situation made even worse by the fact that Riddle had to witness it all.

Embarrassment made his stomach flip uncomfortably, and Harry wondered idly if he needed to throw up again just to get rid of the terrible feeling that had lodged itself in his windpipe.

“Did you take a car over here?” Riddle asked, and Harry shook his head in the negative. 

“I’ll take you back to your place.” 

Harry shook his head once more, shoulders trembling when Riddle slipped an arm around his waist and settled over his shoulders for support.

There was no way Harry would tell the man where he lived. There was no way he would let him take him back home. He’d sooner sleep on the damn pavement in the middle of the street than permit it. 

But his body was weak and his legs unsteady beneath him. So it was no surprise that Riddle did not listen to him at all. Instead, he began leading him back to the parking lot that Harry had not noticed when he’d first crossed the street. 

There weren’t many cars, to be fair. Though that wasn’t a good excuse, and he knew it. He had been too drunk to notice a single thing about the place he had gone to, and that was perhaps how he stumbled into Riddle in the last place he’d expected him.

They walked for several moments before they stopped in front of a sleek luxury car, one that looked oddly like the one he’d almost--

Harry stopped breathing.

_ No. _

That was the same car that had almost hit him when he’d been trying to get to the club. Harry, even as drunk as he had been then, could easily recognize it. 

Well, that certainly explained how Riddle had found him. 

“Y-you almost ran me over earlier,” Harry gasped out, wheezing uncomfortably when Riddle pressed him against the car for a moment to fish his keys from his pocket. 

The crowd of people that had milled about the street were gone. The street was empty. It seemed like everyone had either left or had gone inside the different bars around the strip. 

It made him nervous to know that they were alone. Riddle hadn’t pulled any punches when they were in the middle of a crowded bar, so there was no telling what Riddle might do while they were alone.

Harry winced when sharp sound cut through the silence, coming directly from the car pressed uncomfortably to his side. 

“I’m aware,” Riddle replied, before pulling Harry away from the car and opening the car door.

“Not your brightest decision thus far. Though I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Harry shot Riddle a glower, but did not fight him when he gently lowered Harry on the car. After all, the last thing Harry needed was for the man to drop him. He may not have been willing; would rather leap in front of oncoming traffic than spend another moment with Riddle, but that was beside the point. 

Riddle wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and so Harry, to avoid the fruitless argument, let him sit him in the front seat. 

“Just s-shut up and take me home,” Harry muttered, closing his eyes for a moment to stave off the strange feeling in his stomach. It churned relentlessly, and Harry wondered idly if he was going to throw up in the middle of Riddle’s car. 

It’d serve Riddle right if he did. Harry wouldn’t have felt as awful as he did if Riddle hadn’t followed him into the bar in the first place.

“G-god, this is not how I wanted to spend New Years Eve…” Harry groaned, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to ease the pounding headache that worsened the longer he remained conscious. 

Nothing would be better than just passing right there in Riddle’s car. As much as he didn’t want to let the man do as he pleased with him, the more sober Harry became, the more certain he was that he needed to fall into a coma. 

Anything would be better than having to deal with Riddle. 

The door slammed shut beside him, and then Harry was left alone to think about how to get himself out of his mess.

Harry was still slightly drunk, of that he had little doubt. He was nauseous as all hell, and stuck with Riddle. A man that had pressed up against him and had practically fondled him in the middle of the dance floor.

It really couldn’t get much worse. 

The silence shattered when Riddle opened the door, settled inside the driver’s seat, and slammed the door shut.

They sat there for lord knows how long, neither of them speaking. It was the most awkward thing Harry had ever had to experience, and he prayed for something to just knock him out. For the alcohol to somehow take effect, for  _ something  _ to help make the unease winding around his spine ease.

“Say something!” Harry muttered, turning to glance at Riddle when he had yet to say anything. 

Harry sucked in a sharp breath when he found Riddle staring at him in precisely the same manner as he had at the club. Except now, Riddle was not shadowed by the shadows in the dimly lit club.

Here, Harry could see all of him. Though, that could mostly be attributed to his new found lucidity. In the bar, he’d been sloshed and barely cognizant of his surroundings. He’d only been aware of the addictive sound of the music and the heat of Riddle’s body bleeding into his skin, through the thin layer of his jumper.

There was nothing clouding his senses now. He was too sober to miss the devious look in Riddle’s face.

“You look exquisite sitting in my car,” Riddle said silkily before reaching out to touch Harry’s clammy cheek and trace the exposed skin.

Gooseflesh rippled across Harry’s arms, and it took everything within him not to flinch. The memory of what that hand had done, how it had made him feel in that club, like a shot of adrenaline through his veins. 

“You’d look even better in my flat, stripped bare so that my eyes may drink their fill.”

Harry swallowed, noticing the way Riddle’s eyes flickered from his eyes down to his lips and back again.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t flirt with me, Tom,” Harry sighed, too tired to even fight him when that hand trailed from his cheek down to his throat. It made his stomach quiver pleasantly, his nausea forgotten when Riddle was practically consuming all of his senses.

It was ridiculous, just how easily Riddle could derail even basic urges such as those. It wasn’t fair.

“Liar…” Riddle teased, before lightly tracing a finger from his neck to his shoulder, the collar of his shirt exposing the skin readily to Riddle’s hungry gaze.

“It’s because I’m flirting with you that you’re a complete mess right now.”

Harry sighed heavily, swatting the man’s hand away from his neck.

“I swear if you don’t take me home right now, I’ll--”

“I’ll need an address for that,” Riddle interrupted smoothly.

Harry’s lips thinned in irritation, and his gaze narrowed into slits at Riddle’s amused expression. 

_ Wanker. _

“709 Honey Creek Dr. New York, NY 10028,” Harry bit out, ignoring the victorious smile that curved Riddle’s lips. 

It was unnerving, how Riddle could make something as innocent as that seem dangerous. How, with practiced ease, Riddle could twist Harry’s insides into pretzels with the memory of what those very lips had done back at the bar...at what his hands had felt like kneading at his arse beneath flashing lights.

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to drop you off at your flat tomorrow afternoon, at the latest.”

Harry jerked so quickly that his vision swam. 

_ What? _

“Did you think I was going to take you home right after? That I was going to leave you as you are?”

Riddle tutted at him, expression dangerous as he leaned in so closely that Harry could smell his breath: chocolate and coffee so tightly wound together that Harry couldn’t discern whether that was normal in Riddle or if this was something he indulged in occasionally. 

“Harry, you’ve been gone for several months. You left without a goodbye and you made sure I couldn’t follow after you,” Riddle continued, tone suspiciously casual. 

Harry didn’t trust it in the least. 

“And just when I had given up searching, here you are. In the last place I had expected.”

Harry wanted to tell him exactly just how unexpected running into Riddle was, but didn’t. Not when Riddle was touching him lightly, lips slowly growing into a sharp smile. 

An expression Riddle had only ever worn once in Harry’s presence. A time Harry did not wish to recall, considering that was the night they’d had their argument. The night he had learned that Riddle was a  _ fucking crime lord. _

“What a lovely start to the new year,” Riddle purred, and Harry slumped with relief when Riddle finally pulled away to start the car.

_ No _ , Harry thought as Riddle’s eyes flickered to his before pulling out of the parking lot,  _ it was the makings of a nightmare.  _

All wrapped up in a beautiful package named Tom Marvolo Riddle.


End file.
